


Why Don’t You Cool Off?

by heyitsamorette (AmoretteHD)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings Realization, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Realization of Feelings, surprise orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13577928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/pseuds/heyitsamorette
Summary: It is a very hot day, and Daryl and Paul go on a run.-Daryl’s right hand reached out blindly to find purchase, and landed heavily on Paul’s thigh. Paul’s breathing stopped, becoming a gargled hitch in his throat. Daryl was not letting go.





	Why Don’t You Cool Off?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [javelinas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/javelinas/gifts).



> For Javelinas: It was great to get to write for you for the Desus Valentine's Day Exchange. I tried to use your prompts for surprise orgasm and realization of feelings. This is my first time delving into this fandom, and I've fallen absolutely in love with this pairing!! I hope you like it, and happy valentine's day!

Daryl seemed to be made of dirt and sweat. He dripped it, down his thick biceps, down his broad chest, coating every strand of his hair. Paul should be disgusted—and he was. He was. Positively revolted. So much so, his lip curled and his nose crinkled as he watched a bead of perspiration crawl its way down Daryl’s neck. It was a hot day in DC. 

If that was all he felt about Daryl, that would be okay, he could be alright. But Paul wasn’t alright. Something else curled right up to the disgust and made itself at home; something urgent and feral, twisting its claws into the depths of Paul’s stomach. 

Paul would not satisfy it with acknowledgement. He would not feed it with a reaction. 

So he ignored it. 

The sun battered them. They were under attack—but not by men, either living or dead. By drought and heat; the relentless burn of sun against skin. ‘Fuckin crops can’t grow an inch before dryin out,’ Maggie said, hands on her hips and sweat beads glistening on her forehead as she surveyed the zucchini patch. Or what was meant to be.

‘I’ll go scout for water,’ Paul said, already pulling the bandana over his mouth and chin. His face felt sticky, like the rest of him. ‘At least enough to ration for drinking.’

Maggie nodded. ‘Take the truck, and the barrels.’ She squinted, whether from the sun or to pin him with a look, he didn’t know. ‘You’ll need help haulin all that water into the back o’ the pick up.’

She was right. Those barrels were massive, and he was… Well, he was not Daryl.

Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder, already turning toward the gravel patch where the truck was parked. ‘I’ll go with him’ he said, his voice guttural and low. 

Daryl never willingly went anywhere with him. He avoided Paul like the plague. Like breathing Paul’s air would make him turn into one of those _things_ , no bite necessary. 

‘You don’t have to,’ he shouted after Daryl’s back, his voice strong but threaded with a secret plea.

Daryl looked over his shoulder as he marched. ‘You’ll need muh help, princess.’ His eyes tracked down Paul’s body in one quick, fidgety movement, yet still managed to leave Paul’s skin prickling. 

This was not going to be fun. 

Did he usually have fun scavenging the wasted towns and main streets in their immediate radius, for supplies, for scraps? Yes—yes he did, actually. It was kind of his thing. It was _Jesus_ coming out to play, all cunning and mischief. With Daryl along, things felt different. The energy changed.

Daryl drove the truck, one strong arm stretched toward the wheel. Paul bent a leg up, resting a muddy boot on the dash, his arm slung over his knee. Daryl kept shooting glances at him, probably irritated at his lazed manner. Everything about Paul irritated him. The way he spoke, the way he stood, the way he breathed. He could see it in Daryl’s eyes and in the set of his jaw every time Daryl looked at him.

Daryl’s right cheek was smeared with the dry, sandy dirt that blew up in tufts all around the Hillside. It mingled with the stubble growing on his jaw, like the dirt and the hair were one and the same. It made his skin dull, almost lifeless. _Like one of those corpses._ Paul shook away the sudden visual, squeezing his eyes together hard before opening them again.

‘Y’alright?’ Daryl asked in his gruff tone. 

Paul inhaled, steadying himself, focusing on the thrum of the engine all through the seat and the dash. ‘Yeah.’ He shot Daryl a grin. ‘It’s just—this has been going on for too long. You know?’

Daryl’s brow creased, his eyes on the road. ‘The war with Negan?’

Paul blinked at him. Negan... truthfully, he hadn’t even been thinking about Negan. A chuckle bubbled up in his chest, erupting all in breaths from his between lips. Daryl frowned, annoyed again. 

‘I’m talking about the dead,’ Paul said, his smile still lingering. 

Daryl snorted. ‘You actually think this is gonna end someday?’ He wasn’t making conversation; he thought Paul was an idiot and he was letting him know.

‘I don’t know. But I do hope. You can’t tell me you think this is just how it’s gonna be from now on,’ Paul challenged. ‘Forever?’ He kept his gaze focused over Daryl’s face, scrutinizing his reaction. But there was none. Of course there wasn’t. Daryl was a fortress. 

Paul exhaled and looked out over the seemingly endless expanse of road ahead. The severed torso of a dead one was trying to crawl across the pavement, growling up at them, extending its arms, baring its rotted teeth. Daryl ran over its head. _Splat._

‘Don’t matter.’

Paul turned to him again. 

‘This is how it is _now_ ,’ Daryl said. And then he stopped speaking. 

That was as much as he was going to get out of him; but it was enough. It was tons. You can tell a lot about a person by how they handle hardship. Daryl was the kind to grab hardship’s balls and stare it in the eye and say, _give me more, give me all you’ve got._

A shiver shot up Paul’s spine, which should’ve been impossible in this heat.

Paul pointed out the spot they were supposed to turn; the place he’d seen the stream, if he remembered right. His frequent excursions to find other colonies paid off in more ways than one. 

The truck trembled all over as Daryl steered it off the highway, the rusty shocks bouncing up and down, up and down to accommodate the rocks and tree roots and foliage of the forest floor. Paul gripped the handle at the ceiling of the passenger’s seat, spreading his legs wide to steady himself. Daryl’s right hand reached out blindly to find purchase, and landed heavily on Paul’s thigh. 

Paul’s breathing stopped, becoming a gargled hitch in his throat. Daryl was not letting go. Daryl’s hand was _squeezing_ as he tried to stay upright in this turbulence. His grip was hot and insistent, fingers digging into his leg. Paul didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Could hardly bring air into his lungs let alone form words. He stared fixedly ahead, heart battering his chest. The only sounds were the roaring strain of the engine and the thud of metal colliding with earth, over and over again. 

It was only as they rolled onto smoother terrain that Paul registered the slight swelling of his cock. Just in time for Daryl to notice what he was doing. 

‘Shit,’ he said, pulling his hand away as though scalded. Then he mumbled something that could have been _sorry_ , or it could have been _shit_ again. 

‘It’s alright,’ Paul said, forcing a breathy laugh. ‘It was a bumpy ride, and you needed to hold on.’

Was he encouraging this? He couldn’t tell, even in his own mind. He was just trying to keep it light and keep the fuse from flaring. Or maybe, that was what he wanted, the inevitable explosion of the spark reaching the dynamite. 

They lurched to a stop and Daryl pushed the gear into park. He was out the door, _click, slam_ , before Paul even found the door handle. They had reached the stream, thank fucking god, and Paul let out a rush of breath. After composing himself, he joined Daryl in unloading the barrels from the truck bed. 

Daryl carried one over his shoulder, and Paul’s eyes traced the broad expanse of his back. He had noticed that figure the first time he met Daryl, and he hadn’t been able to stop looking since. 

They both waded into the stream, their pants soaking to their knees. Paul grabbed the base of the barrel while Daryl held onto the top, and together they hefted it horizontally to catch the softly flowing water. It filled at the pace of sap sludging down a tree trunk, but even so, the base became heavier by the minute. He let the barrel sink a bit, allowing its buoyancy to do most of the work. Until he let it go.

‘Hey,’ Daryl said as the barrel slipped from his hands. 

Paul unsheathed his knife from his utility belt as he waded toward the walker that had crept up behind Daryl. Reaching over Daryl’s shoulder, he pierced its skull, and it let off a gurgling sort of scream before slumping over and splashing into the water. 

When Daryl turned to him, their faces were only inches apart. Daryl was only slightly taller but Paul still tilted his head back to look up at him. Maybe it was the strength in Daryl’s gaze, making him feel vulnerable, making him want to get on his kne…

No, not that. 

He stepped back, forcing a smirk. ‘I’ve got you.’

Daryl’s tongue darted past his cracked lips as he licked them. ‘Thanks,’ he grunted. 

‘No problem.’

Daryl was so fucking dirty. Up close, it was even worse. For an insane, hysterical moment, he imagined shoving Daryl into the stream, getting on top of him, and pinning him down until the water rushed over his entire body and swept all that grime and grease away. 

And then he realized he didn’t want that at all. The beastly yearning inside him roared up at the thought, and he knew he wouldn’t have Daryl any other way. It was what drew him to the man, though he didn’t like to admit it. Daryl belonged to this Earth just like all the mud and dirt and wildlife all around him; which is why he’d survived all of it, coming out somehow better than before. He was in his element when he was shooting down corpses and fighting for his life, like a primal, feral thing. Like the beast inside Paul, gnashing its teeth and trying to claw its way out. 

‘Let’s get this one to the truck,’ Daryl said, clutching the rim of the barrel, which had filled and sunk to the bottom. 

He needed Paul’s help this time, and the two of them staggered with it, one on each side, and hoisted it up onto the back of the truck. Water sloshed onto the truck bed, all over their hands and all over the front of Paul’s shirt. 

‘That feels nice,’ was the first thing out of his mouth, because it was the truth. The water was blissfully cool on his overheated skin. 

Daryl stared at him, his throat moving. Annoyed, again? Paul couldn’t be sure. Something about his eyes did not scream annoyed or irritated like they usually did, and he just kept staring, eyes roaming wherever they wanted to go, until Paul began to wonder if _that look_ had ever been irritation at all.

Then all the sudden it was gone, and Daryl reached for another empty barrel. He didn’t wait, carrying it by himself again down to the stream. Paul followed, the monster roaring in his chest, pressing against his ears and deafening him. 

He kept his eyes fixed on Daryl, on the way his biceps flexed, his skin glistening with perspiration. Paul crouched in the water, leaned over and dipped his head in. Damn, that felt good, the crystal cool relief to his scalp. The way, when he threw his head back again, the water poured in rivulets over his face and down his neck. His hair was soaked, already curling a bit at the ends. Sopping wet strands clung to his forehead, and he made no effort to push them aside. 

‘What?’ he asked, grinning widely at Daryl. ‘I’m hot.’

Daryl let out a harsh breath as he stood there, shifting from one foot to the other like he suddenly couldn’t find proper footing. ‘Are you gonna help me or what?’

‘Just taking a small break to cool off. I’m dying here.’ He cupped his hands and filled them from the stream, bringing the water to his lips.

‘You gotta boil that first, before you drink it. Or haven’t you learned nothin yet?’

Paul took up some more water, looked Daryl in the eye, and then splashed him right in the face. 

Daryl blinked, his mouth hanging open as water streamed past his lips. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he breathed. He leaned down and immediately started pummeling Paul right back.

Paul endured the onslaught of a tidal wave as Daryl continued to douse him. Laughter escaped his throat, rumbling through Paul’s entire body and making him feel light headed—it was either the dehydration, or it was letting Daryl overpower him. He let the attack topple him over, and he sat in the stream up to his waist with his knees bent and sticking out as Daryl gave him more. He wanted _more_ , and then even more. 

‘What?’ Daryl said, a smile playing on his lips. ‘Don’t got anymore fight left in ya?’

Paul peered up at him from underneath wet lashes, chest rising and falling as he sucked in air. ‘I’m not a fighter, Daryl. You know that.’

Daryl strode over, making even more waves rush against Paul’s chest. Daryl crouched down in front of him. ‘What, you’re not gonna fight—even if someone does this?’ He shoved Paul playfully against the shoulder.

Paul’s laugh hung on his breath. Slowly, he shook his head. 

Something flashed in Daryl’s eyes before he narrowed them. ‘Oh yeah? What about this?’ He shoved harder, and if Paul hadn’t already been sitting on his ass, he would’ve fallen onto it. ‘No?’

‘No.’

Daryl gripped both his shoulders and shook him. Paul wasn’t prepared for that, and his head bobbled on his neck like one of those dolls you stuck on the dashboard. 

He grimaced but he planted his hands more firmly into the slimy bed of the stream, gripping at the mud. ‘No,’ he grit out. 

‘Fuck.’ Daryl looked genuinely alarmed, his brow deeply creased and a crazy look in his eyes. ‘Fight back.’ 

It was all Paul could do to keep upright, with the solid wall of muscle that was Daryl’s body slowly pressing in on him. The water in the stream might as well have come to a roaring boil with what little relief it had left to offer. Daryl heated it up, made it steam and cloud Paul’s fucking senses. 

Daryl renewed his grip on him and, with what seemed like scarily little effort, dragged Paul onto the shore. Paul grunted as his elbows slammed into the ground. He didn’t have a moment to think, let alone scramble to his feet, before Daryl’s full weight fell on top of him. 

And _god_ , it felt glorious. 

‘What if someone did this? Huh?’ Daryl’s breath was hot in his ear, sticky and uncomfortable, but somehow it went straight to Paul’s cock. ‘Would you fight back now?’

Paul’s lip trembled slightly and his back arched, his ass pressing more firmly against Daryl’s body. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, barely catching a glimpse of Daryl’s hair in his peripheral. But he knew Daryl could see his face, and the way his lips parted. 

‘Fuck, no,’ he said, his voice coming out deeper than normal. He felt the hesitation in Daryl’s body; the disbelief, and how he stayed so, so still. Paul’s throat suddenly felt scratchy and parched. ‘Did you hear me?’

Daryl let out a soft groan. His big hand trailed down Paul’s arm, coming to rest at his bent elbow. ‘Yeah,’ he grunted. ‘God damn…’

Another moment trickled by, and Paul wasn’t able to stand it; the monster in his gut couldn’t wait any longer. He pressed his ass up again, grinding it against Daryl wherever it reached, hoping it was close to Daryl’s cock. Something rumbled inside of him—no, that was Daryl’s groan, its rich sound reverberating in his ears—and Paul needed to be taken apart. Right now. 

‘Do it,’ he spat, no longer trying to keep the monster in check. 

Daryl let out a rush of hot breath and sat up, his hands disappearing and then coming back down on the waistband of Paul’s jeans. He didn’t even unbutton or unzip them, just pulled them down Paul’s ass as hard as he could. They scraped his thighs, the denim burning his skin, and his boxers got caught up in them and slid down altogether. It was odd to feel the open air on his ass, but damn did it make his cock heavy and thick between his legs. 

Daryl unzipped himself behind him, and a moment later something hard, and big, pressed between Paul’s cheeks. 

‘Shit,’ Daryl said. He grabbed Paul’s ass with one hand, digging his thumb into his skin as he pulled one cheek aside. He dragged the length of his cock along the cleft. The feel of the soft head sliding over his hole made Paul nearly whimper. His limbs trembled with the desire coursing through him—the pure _want_ for Daryl’s cock.

They had no lube, he remembered with despair. They had nothing. Daryl was probably thinking the same thing because his finger replaced his cock, its rough pad scratching over the sensitive, furled flesh. Paul groaned gratefully, letting the sound roll off his tongue. Daryl did it again, tracing circles around his entrance, and Paul rewarded him with more guttural sounds from the back of his throat. 

‘Stick it in,’ he said, his voice languid and rich. Not begging. No, he hadn’t begged. But it was a close thing. He had no problems begging if he needed to, but he shouldn’t let in on that too soon. Not now. Not yet. 

Daryl’s finger breached him, Paul’s ass resisting him all the way, and he knew Daryl liked that. He didn’t want him relaxed and willing, he wanted him just like this. Tight as fuck and putting up a fight, every inch. _Will you fight back now?_

And suddenly Paul understood why Daryl was so angry he would let himself get pushed down, down into the muddy waters. Why it enraged him that Paul wouldn’t fight back. Fighting was everything in this world. Fighting meant taking a stand against the dead things, the people, and all the monsters out there who wanted to hurt you. Fighting was embracing your own, inner monster and grabbing this world by the balls. Fighting meant you survived. 

Daryl’s finger stung inside him, but somehow it was exactly what he needed. He added a second, working it in next to the first, spitting on Paul’s ass, long globs of saliva coating his insides. It was dirty and messy and _disgusting_ , and it was exactly right. There was still too much friction and it burned, but then, a blunt fingertip hit that perfect spot inside him, and Paul let out an embarrassingly desperate moan.

Daryl let out a frustrated grunt and pulled out his fingers. He seemed to know there was no way he could put his dick in Paul and it pissed him off. Frustrated him, just like everything about Paul did. Paul would bleed, not that he was afraid of a little blood. But Daryl kept hesitating, pressing the head of his cock in juuust about, almost breaching him, and then pulling it back. Even the slick precome now smeared all over his entrance wouldn’t be enough. 

‘It’s okay,’ Paul said, reaching down to grab his own cock, sighing in blissful relief as he wrapped his fingers around it. ‘We don’t have to. Just...just _move.’_

Daryl leaned over him, placing one hand firmly in the mud by Paul’s side and straddling him with his legs. This brought the thick length of his shaft right between Paul’s cheeks, the girth squeezed between them. He didn’t try to enter him, only began rolling his hips against Paul’s so that his length slid against him. His cheeks embraced Daryl’s cock as he dragged it through the cleft, back and forth and over and over again. 

Paul shut his eyes as he stroked himself and canted his hips toward Daryl’s groin. The pressure was building inside him; the monster was roaring. He could sense Daryl was close, too, from the way his breaths got more stilted and came out all in hisses, and by the way the fluid rolls of his hips became stabbing, punishing thrusts. He was losing control of himself, taken over by need and using Paul to assuage it. And Paul was very much happy to let him.

All too soon, he felt the hot splatter of come against his ass, and it pushed him over the edge. His own orgasm shook him from his very core as his come mixed with the mud, rushing out of him before he expected it, before he was ready. He breathed hard as his head stopped spinning and the world came back in focus. He didn’t want this to be over. It didn’t have to be. It wasn’t enough. That thing inside him was appeased, for now, but only for so much longer. 

Daryl got off him, but Paul couldn’t move right away. It took him a minute to clear his head, and then he lifted himself up on shaky arms that ached at the elbows. His jeans bound his legs together at the ankles and he had to pull them up, but undid the zip and belt buckle. His back cracked as he stretched and his knees wobbled as he walked back into the stream. He had to wash the come and spit off his ass. Daryl watched him, his eyes hooded and dark and his jaw slack, as Paul splashed water between his ass cheeks and, giving Daryl a full view, used his fingers to rub in between them… maybe for longer than he strictly needed to.

‘L-let’s get the rest o’ those done,’ Daryl said, his voice still hoarse. He nodded once at Paul, and then turned back toward the truck as Paul finished buckling his belt around his hips again. 

Paul watched him, eyes on his broad shoulders and the strong back that led to a trim waist. His slim hips, his ass, his long legs. He drank Daryl all in. 

Maybe at some point, they’d fuck—hell, he knew they would. It was only a matter of getting Daryl alone; perhaps pulling him into his room whispering to him where the lube was hidden in his bedside table. But maybe, one day, he could also crush his lips against Daryl’s. Press his mouth against Daryl’s mouth and not let him move away, pinning him in place with hands and muscle and pure strength of will, and whatever else he had to offer. But not like a kiss. No, not like a kiss. Like a fight. 

END


End file.
